


Vice

by WeNeedARuse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Denial, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Teasing, slightly angsty if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 01:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: "But the hand is around his throat. And the hard lines of the body is pushed up against him, perfect fitting."Just some porn. That's all.





	Vice

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeey remember way back when, those days I wrote "When It's Like This."? Welp, this is the Arthur and Dutch from that, but pre-that.
> 
> Slightly dom/sub, slightly angsty, not a whole lot of sex. You know...just...yip.
> 
> Anyhoo, please enjoy and let me know what you think :)
> 
> (sorry for any grammar mistakes etc, I haven't got a beta)

Arthur can hear his own breaths, echoing in his ears. He tries to swallow them down. Not be so loud. Not draw attention. 

But the hand is around his throat. And the hard lines of the body is pushed up against him, perfect fitting

Dutch’s erection presses into his back. 

Hard as rock

Arthur closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. 

He doesn’t want to beg, or plead, or gasp or cry out. 

He just wants to feel. 

The hand on his throat slides up, grips to the underside of his jaw and tilts his head back. Arthur bites his lip harder, 

“Good.” Dutch whispers against his ear, lips brushing his skin and Arthur’s legs feel weak. 

Not a sound. 

Not a whimper. 

Dutch’s other hand strokes down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes until he’s exposed to the chill morning air. 

Not a sound. 

Not a whimper. 

Oh he’s wanted this for too long. 

Fingers circle his nipple, nails dragging a little. Teeth bite at the nape of his neck. And Arthur thinks that it’s not possible to get any harder. It’s not possible to feel like this without being touched there. It’s not...

Both hands on his chest now, roaming down, sliding until they reach his waist. 

Grip and hold. 

As Dutch thrusts against his back. Lazy almost, like they have all the time in the world, like no one can just walk in on them, like it used to be before age and duty and death caught up with them. 

It has been a long, long while. 

He hears Dutch laugh, a soft huff of breath against his skin and Arthur’s body jerks at it, his cock twitches, his skin burns and aches and....

“I’m wondering,” Dutch says, fingers in the waistband of his pants now, thrusting light against him still. “How long you’re going to last.”

Arthur smiles to himself but says nothing. 

Dutch isn’t the only one who can hold back if he has to. 

He taught him after all. 

So he says nothing, instead he drops his head forward, let’s his body relax into the touch, submits. 

Submits to him. 

He feels fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck, moving up until they grip at the longer strands,

Grab hold,

And push down. 

Arthur falls to his knees, hands out to stop the crash of it. Feels his body start to tremble with all consuming need. 

And Dutch steps past him,

Comes round in front of him,

Crouches down and reaches out, tilts his head up to make him look at him. 

“You can’t be all that desperate.” The way he says it. With an almost wondering tone. Like he doesn’t really believe it even now, after all this time. 

“You telling me how I feel now Dutch?” He mutters. The first words he’s spoken since Dutch pushed up behind him. 

And Dutch looks at him a moment longer. Those dark eyes, that sharp nose, that goddamn handsome enigmatic fucking face.

Looks at him and speaks 

“Is this how we’re playing it today?”

And Arthur wets his lips, lowers his gaze and nods. 

“Dutch.” He hears himself murmur. 

“Yes?”

Oh he sounds so good. Arthur has to fight to hide his smile, keep his head down so he can’t see. 

“Fuck me hard.”

Silence. 

And then,

Oh god. 

Yanked to his feet and pushed, shoved backwards with a growl and a curse. His knees hit the bed and he falls. Turned again, strong hands and a cruel grip. 

Forced down face first. 

Hands yanked up behind his back. 

Both wrists held in one of Dutch’s hands. 

Vice. 

Arthur moans, lets his voice out for just a second before Dutch is shoving his bandana into it, shortening breath, cutting off sound. 

He gets a little...loud. Like this. 

And then fingers in his ass, wet and rough, forcing him open so hard that tears spring to the corners of his eyes. 

God he’s ready. 

Lord, he thinks, begs inside his mind. Lord, fuck me. 

He waits. Waits and aches and the silence is deafening, the crush of Dutch’s grip is everything. 

Waits. 

Then Dutch bows over him. Lips to his ear. Hot breath against him, voice low and dark and teasing. 

“How much you want this.” Wondering. Amused. Delighted? Maybe. Maybe not. 

Arthur wants to spit the gag out and tell him to fuck off,

Fuck him. 

“All open.” A finger, just one now, teases a circle in him and Arthur’s legs go weak. His abandoned cock leaks onto the blanket. 

“All...mm.”

Then,

A rustling of fabric. 

Belt unbuckled. 

Arthur hangs his head and smiles, ready and aching and finally, finally, finally. 

Only,

Silence. 

He risks a look back and sees Dutch watching him, sat back on his heels, cock in hand, stroking himself lightly. 

A smile. Cruel and wicked. 

Arthur groans and looks away again. 

He wanted it too much, that’s for sure. But that isn’t always the reason Dutch denies him. No, and that isn’t the reason this time. 

Two months Arthur’s been away. 

Two months. Collecting himself. Doing jobs. Building money. Fucking...

Two months. And Dutch is mad. 

He spits out the gag. 

“Please. Dutch.” He hears himself say and it’s weak, weak and broken. 

He won’t say sorry. 

But,

Oh, god. Yes. 

Dutch is moving over him, pressing himself against the length of his back and Arthur can feel his hand moving, stroking himself, catching the sensitive skin at the top of Arthur’s thigh on every up-stroke. 

Bites the back of his neck. 

Tells him,

Well. 

Tells him things he needs to hear. Even if he doesn’t want to. 

And then

Heat. 

Over his ass, dripping down to where he was so open, so ready. Wanting. 

Arthur groans while Dutch is silent. 

“Fuck yourself.”

Oh. 

Oh he’s angrier than he thought. Angry and vindictive and...

Arthur rolls onto his back and watches Dutch tuck himself back into his trousers. Watches him wipe his hand on the bed sheet. Watches him make his way to the door. 

“You ain’t even going to watch?” He asks it before he can stop himself. Dutch twists the door handle but doesn’t open the door, not yet. 

“Would you like that?” Dutch asks and Arthur can hear the tease in his voice. He smiles and tries not to nod too eagerly. 

“You know I would.” Please watch, he thinks, watch and get hard and...

The door opens and he scrambles to cover himself, just in case. 

“Then no.”

And he’s gone, 

And Arthur lays back, puts his hands over his face and yells his frustration into them. 

He’s still hard. 

Harder maybe. 

And he knows, that to get any peace, any release, to be sated...

He looks to the door, and thinks how he can make all this up to him.


End file.
